


CELADON SEA

by velveteen_ty



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Crying, Derealization, Disassociation, Distortion of People, Distortion of Places, Distortion of Time, Dream Angst, Dream In Prison, Dream Smp, Gen, Implied DreamNotFound, In Reminisce Over Old Friends, Late Night Writing, Pandora's Vault, Poetic, Possibly Unrequited Love, References to Hamlet, Self Confinement, Self Isolation, Short Story, dream team, loss of sense of self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29336577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velveteen_ty/pseuds/velveteen_ty
Summary: Dream lays idly amidst the prison, reminiscing, lost in his thoughts of a celadon-coloured sea.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	CELADON SEA

**Author's Note:**

> heavy content warning: derealization (do NOT read if derealization is disconcerting for you! there is a heavy distortion of places, time, and people), disassociation, angst, solitary confinement/self-isolation.

Dream laid upon the burning ground like Ophelia in arcadian trance, as if he were the one drifting amidst the mosaic and half-arched leaves strewn across artful water, wet dress catching at water-lilies. The ceiling of obsidian was tear-soaked so as to deprive him of escape, for violet accentuated the dark material in an appearance of bleeding whilst serving insufficient to the incitement of flint-and-steel. His sole method of leaving from this place was through a nether portal. Yet, he did not seek anything that may help him, anymore.

His eyes were pale. Dulled and devastated of their once-was colours.

If he were to close them, give himself that respite of moment’s darkness, he could grasp at his mind’s memories and compose a rendition of this story- for the reprieve he would be blessed with if he let himself dream was more desirable than the sure pain and torment of staying in that cell with his head. He could dream of a story where he is with George, footing idly across a silent plain in the midst of a wind that causes Dream to arch his shoulders close together, announcing through airy laughter that he is cold. A story where Dream is resting his chin against George’s shoulder whilst they coast along an uneven and gaunt celadon-sea, boats tilting, and Sapnap is in the lead saying something of ridicule. There is a single-celled monsoon approaching.

A sentimental story, where Dream is in awe at the allured night sky rather than grieving obsidian, with Callahan, Alyssa, Ponk, and others setting off fireworks so as to signify the beginning of a celebration, so veiled with cloth bags of valuables and pre-made desserts to eat. Callahan would be dancing. Ponk may make a commendation of his Lemon Tree. George and Sapnap would be in-vain contention over the remaining slice of cake, and George would be so relentless as to dive into the water and urge Sapnap to, “come get me!”, casting that slice into ruin in the process.  
Dream would be fondly staring. He knew what he would say.

Or, did he know what to say?

He gasped softly- he didn’t remember?  
No, no, how could- No, no, no, it was fine- he would say, “you two are being dumb,” or, “George, you are being so stupid right now.” He’d be laughing. What would he do with his hands? Put them on George’s shoulder? Was that right? Yes?

Dream’s breathing, irregular and recondite, began to calm down. His chest heaved upward slowly, for nothing implied distress in moments such as these except for his breathing.

What would he do, after that? When Sapnap and George dry off and meet him? What would he do with his feet? He didn’t just stand ere to this era of isolation- what would he do with his hands? What would he- where would he be looking at? Where? What?

He exhaled.  
No- no, no- he remembers. He must remember. How long has it been? A month? Three months? Half of a year? Half of a year, and he has forgotten it all?  
No. No. Dream covered his mouth. He will not make a sound.

“Hey, George!” or, “Hey, guys!” and then- what? Would they respond? Yes, they would- so, now what? “You two done?” would they respond?

Yes?

No?

What if they didn’t?  
I can’t remember.

Dream is with George at that gaunt, celadon sea, now. They are watching it from a cliffside. He can’t hear himself over the wind. The sky is saturated with solemn overcast. George is quiet. Dream is sullen.

He can’t remember what he would say.  
He feels like a sinuous, spectral image, an eidolon staring at their former self. He is unable to remember. He can’t speak. He has not spoken in a year.

It has been a year. Dream’s books are all burnt. Dream’s clock has been gone in perpetuity. No.

It’s- no. Has it? Is this?

George is looking at him now.. The gale intensified- the waves arose. It is so cold.  
Dream’s eyes stung with tears. “Please stop,” he pleaded to the sky, as if it would hear.

Within the wind, the sky sang an indiscernible euphony, something he could not hear. It was an ode of grieving.

Dream looks at George’s face.  
No.  
He can’t see him.  
George- his eyes are blurred.

There is no detail.

It’s been two years. Three years. Four years.

Five years.

And Dream, in that moment of anguish, gasped sharply- panicked, let out an agonizing scream so raw with affliction that the resting adrenaline woke up in his veins and sent him into a true fit of uneven fear. The scream felt like wraiths of atoned power within were giggling, relieved, at last at a release from the purgatory body that trapped them. The world came into focus once, thrice, fading in and out of intelligibility, the sound of his breathing became so irritating, so loud, he hated it. He cursed himself as this brought about a descent of tears. He had not cried out in so long, his throat was screaming at the sudden use.  
He heard glass shattering somewhere. It felt like a breaking of this dimension’s plane. He opened his eyes- met the flowing lava. How it flared, piercing, cast-lit gold-light in the darkness. He hated it. It was all he could see.  
Dream rubbed at his neck. His scream tore into the air, and, as such, tore at his throat.

No.  
It cannot be five years.

No. No. He can't remember.

It has been a month. Two months. Sapnap and George will come to help him.  
He will be with them. It’s only been a day since the cell had been emptied.

He must remember. Please. How long has it been?

.

.

Dream closed his eyes, clasped his hands together. Dreamt his left was George’s.

Laid on the burning ground like Ophelia.

He could not remember their faces.

**Author's Note:**

> note:  
> (manipulation + gaslighting mention below)  
> i have been a victim of manipulation for three years. i have been exposed to gaslighting and my feelings of self-worthlessness since i was eleven to thirteen years old. please, please know i am not condoning c!dream’s behaviour within this story, nor shall i ever exempt him from the consequences of what he has caused and how callously he has treated other people.  
> thank you. enjoy.)


End file.
